


and then, there were two

by ExasperantMadman



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 'Mom said it's my time on the suffering box now' - Revenant probably, And that is suffering., Angst, Because I apparently only have one dial, Death, Except for one part i guess, Existential Dread, More inner turmoil, Nothing too explicit though, Other, Rip random legend dude, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExasperantMadman/pseuds/ExasperantMadman
Summary: A part of him wishes,longs, to experience it for himself, while the other part - the one tasked with his self-preservation - wants to murder all traces of such small acts of love, for that is what he does best.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	and then, there were two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eymelee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eymelee/gifts).



> Hi, I'm back with more suffering
> 
> Thanks again to [ eymelee ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eymelee/pseuds/eymelee) from dragging me to revhound hell, I guess I deserve it for all the hells I dragged you into myself. 
> 
> Recommend listening to [ this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kvo9cDjo3OA) to get an understanding of how Revenant feels in this fic.
> 
> This work somewhat makes references to my last one, however, reading it is not integral to the story.

It was never supposed to come to this. 

He's had obsessions in the past; past contracts he'd spent days, weeks and occasionally months, obsessing over his targets - ensuring everything would go according to plan. It was always in, then out. He'd put the time, resources and thoughts into it then he'd be out the second he'd execute the target. 

But he can't execute the target anymore. 

He doesn't _want_ to, anyway. 

The only thing he truly wants to execute is himself, drive his blade up his own ass for being such a - such a skin bag.

Revenant watches his current obsession through the variable scope of his Triple Take. Unsuspectingly, his mark carries on looting with their teammate while he creeps closer. Never too close, no, he doesn't want to be found just yet. Or maybe he doesn't want to be found at all? 

What _does_ he want? 

What does someone who erases their face from time want? 

Someone who deletes themselves alive?

His audio receptors pick up the sound of a grappling hook connecting to the rock he perched himself upon. Normally, his gun would already be out, ready to rid whoever attempted to sneak up on him full of bullets. But although friendly-fire was a concept he did not care to respect, it was, unfortunately, forbidden - and dare say, impossible to carry out regardless.

"Surprise!" Pathfinder greets cheerfully upon landing next to his crouched form, "..I hope I didn't scare you."

An aggravated grunt is the only answer Revenant cares to muster - why is he the one stuck with the MRVN?

* * *

The blood of skin bags pools underneath him while he loots their stiffening corpses. Ammo, shields, he grabs only the essentials for he intends to stick to remote places from where he can observe his target. Upon several insistent threats, Pathfinder separated from him back when there were more than six squads left in the game, promising to meet him again soon with a smile on his screen and a cheerful wave. 

_"I think we're going to do great, friend!"_ the robot's voice replayed in his memory as he watched them zipline away to a heated fight.

Revenant hopes the other dies, flattened by a Leviathan.

Settling in the shadows of a ruined and half-buried in the sand barrack, he bides his time, observing the fight happening in Containment. His target is there, caught between two warring squads, but Revenant isn't worried over their safe being. He could intervene, it wouldn't be hard for him to pick apart the skin bags in their weakened states, while they're distracted with their frivolous fights. But it's not what he's after, no matter how much his finger itches over the trigger, how much he wants to see the life drain out of their pathetic eyes; no matter how much he wants to die in the fight.

Why is he obsessing over a skin bag so badly?

Was it that one win they shared? The times they've killed each other? 

Why would it be any different to him - to win or to die, it was all the same in the end. Nothing held any meaning to a being erased itself from memory. He only lived, if you could call this painful existence living, to fulfil his sole remaining purpose - obliterate all surviving traces of Hammond Robotics. Even if he died, time and again, respawned gasping and screaming as life was forced back into his circuits, it wouldn't even matter.

What else was there left, for someone who erases it all away?

The sound of a care package, signalled to land close by, brings his attention back to the battlefield, now littered with the corpses of fallen legends. 

He can make out the victors - Bloodhound and Lifeline, the latter excitedly interacting with the former - claiming the spoils of their hard-won battle. Revenant readjusts his rifle, briefly looking at the combat medic loot and shake her head to a silent beat, before training his scope back on the object of his obsession. Bloodhound stands amongst the bodies, retrieving his axe from the head of some unfortunate fool. His eyes greedily take in the tracker's movements, from the meticulous cleaning of their blade to the quick, yet respectful way they loot their victims. 

With strange wonder, the stalker watches Bloodhound's raven perch itself on its owner's outstretched forearm. To any bystander witnessing the scene, nothing about the gesture would stand out specifically. Yet, Revenant feels strange, unconsciously holding a breath he's incapable of exhaling despite his lack of lungs. Like a hawk he watches, burning eyes drinking in every little movement; the gloved finger scratching at the feathers, the slight tilt of their head and the way the sun seems to highlight their poised figure. Strange, how mesmerized he is by such a simple act; so intimate in its simplicity. A part of him wishes, _longs_ , to experience it for himself, while the other part - the one tasked with his self-preservation - wants to murder all traces of such small acts of love, for that is what he does best. 

Revenant knows how to kill; he's butchered love so many times before, be it as payback for the times when he'd exhaust himself on hurting others and himself, or out of revenge for his many deaths. 

Oh, he knows how to kill, destroying all in his path. And dying, well, it just wasn't enough for him anymore.

With a nod from their master, and a brisk snap of their arm, the bird takes off; and with it, so does he.

* * *

It doesn't surprise him when the MRVN eventually succumbs under the pressure of a capable squad, though he gives him credit for lasting out this long by himself. 

The match is down to four teams, the ring closing in a few meters shy of his current hiding spot in the cool shade of a cabin. The waterfall, unfortunately, obstructs his vision but serves to muffle and dampen his traces through the mud. He's feeling bold, getting closer to his target to a point where their actions were easily discernible without the aid of his scope. If he felt daring enough, he could easily skitter amidst the houses below and impinge upon their space. That is what he intends to do, as he scales the rocky terrain and nestles himself close on a ledge in the mountain, overlooking part of Slum Lakes. 

Amidst the seemingly peaceful moment, where Bloodhound devises a plan with their teammate and he can't do anything but watch, waiting for the most opportune moment to infiltrate in a nearby structure, Revenant's mind wanders. Nowhere in particular, always circling back to the same old things he seems to remember and yet never recall happening. 

Was it real, or did he dream it? Was there ever a point where the hunter's head lay cradled in his lap? Was it real when they crossed paths, late into the night, both wary of each other's intentions as they went their separate ways among the chaos and destruction of World's Edge? He wondered then as he wonders now, where they disappeared for weeks, their absence strange and uncharacteristic; still, more uncharacteristic of him to dwell on it, he who doesn't care even for himself. 

Rushed footfalls converge on his position. 

In an instant, his body twists and hugs the ground beneath him, poised to strike at the interlopers. His eyes watch the one with the death-wish, Octane, stop by the dilapidated cabin next to him and loiter around. Revenant barely suppresses the animalistic growl threatening to leave his metal frame, staring daggers and wishing all sorts of unpleasant things to befall the speed-demon. 

Eventually, when Octane stumbles a little too close to see his golden eyes shine through the bushes he lurks into, Revenant grants them their dying wish. With a bullet through their skull and a messy execution, he dispatches of the man and a fraction of the tension building up into his systems. Their belongings disinterest him, but he repossesses some of their explosives and medical supplies.

The cawing of a raven halts his looting though. Sat above him, Revenant recognises the Hound's companion, whose beady eyes stare at him expectantly. He stares back, unmoving and unblinking, challenging the bird to lunge at him the way it often assaults the robot, but it does no such thing. It regards him for a while longer, silently judging his worth, before it takes flight and dives back towards the slums. Revenant follows its flight path with his eyes, up until his gaze falls back onto its owner, still as a statue on the rooftop of a building.

Strangely, Revenant finds himself mirroring the other's unmoving stance, petrified on the spot. What a familiar sight he beholds, him and the Hunter, staring at one another. His legs bring him closer to the edge of the mountain, feet stopping upon the same wooden ledge he planned to scale down into the fetid buildings below. He waits, not entirely sure what for - his guns are ready, his senses sharp but it's not what he truly wants; only cowards fight from afar. No, he wants more, he wants to feel the rush of bullets past him, ichor spilt in the name of gods and nothing. 

He wants blood, and he wants the Hound.

As if reading his thoughts, the tracker takes one step forth. With a subtle tilt of their head, they beckon him forward.

 _Bring it,_ their voice rings inside his head as he practically sees them uttering the challenge. 

He's reached the point of no return, and frankly, as he launches himself towards the open invitation, he only regrets he hadn't reached it sooner.

* * *

A fight breaks out around the same time when he reaches the shoddy buildings of the slums. The last squad, perhaps drawn in by his earlier shot, targets Bloodhound and their teammate. Normally, he'd let the skin bags exhaust and kill themselves while he waits to rip the victory from their dying clutches, but not this time. 

Mercilessly, Revenant litters his foes with bullets and rips them apart. Lifeline ends up caught up in the middle of him and an enemy opponent, unfortunately ending up incapacitated by his blade, though left breathing. The last enemy pursues the tracker through a building, unaware of his lingering presence at the end of the line. Hugging the side of the building, he waits until Bloodhound's silhouette exits safely before he strikes from the cover of shadows, effectively decapitating their pursuing assailant. 

And then, there were two.

Now, so up close to the object of his torments, the stalker finds himself for once, at a loss of actions. Bloodhound judges and finds them trustworthy enough to heal and repair their broken equipment in his presence, promptly procuring a medkit out of their supplies. 

Fool. Don't they know not to entrust Death with their life? How easy would it be to strike now, lunge two steps ahead and gut them with his blade?

And yet... he doesn't break their trust.

He's grown so accustomed, so attached to their presence that it feels like he's a part of them. He could recognise them anywhere, by their touch, their smell; the mark they left upon the world with each fight and sacrifice to their God. Even if he would be blind, if he would claw his own eyes out with self-hatred and in anguish, he would still know them by the way they breathe, by the way their feet strike the earth beneath them. When he glances his reflection in mirrors, he's stopped seeing his past lives scrutinising his actions; instead, there's them gazing back, haunting his pathetic existence.

It was never supposed to come to this.

Bloodhound stirs, and with them so does he awaken from his terrifying realisations.

"I am prepared for the fight," they announce full of conviction. 

But Revenant panics - as much as a killing machine can when it realises it now spurns its purpose. 

He wanted this, he wanted to shed their blood, that was the only thing he believed will rid him of this indecisive curse. And yet, even as the other waits for him to strike, Revenant fails to lift his blade in preparation. 

It's getting hard to breathe, it feels like he's choking - funny, he doesn't even breathe, and yet here he was, hyperventilating. What a pathetic sight he must be right now, ripping the plates off his chest in anguish and writhing on the spot like a pitiful invertebrate. He doesn't even notice the other observing his struggles with muted interest, a knowing glint in their tinted goggles. Only when they discard their weapons and rid themselves of their earthly possessions, does Revenant look away from his struggles. 

"Come, let us begin. There is more honour in death than a life without test."

"There is no honour in death!" he bellows, finding his voice, "There is no honour in anything. I've lived, and died, long enough to see all things lose their meaning." Revenant saunters closer, that familiar demented glint back in his eyes, "I've seen the other side. There's nothing. _You're_ nothing."

He expects the other to lose their collected composure. Everyone does when they stand close enough to stare death in the eyes. But they don't. What they do instead is cross their arms in front of their chest, the action alone making him laugh. 

"I believe you know how to die, deleting yourself alive," Bloodhound speaks, and his laughter dies back in his chest, "but what haunts you most is death. Something you no longer need to fear." 

So close to the other, Revenant can see his golden eyes reflecting in the other's glassy stare. What he does not like, is the fearful expression he sees mirrored back at him. 

It is he who backs away first, humbled by the other's truth. 

"You may be death to many, but that is not what defines you. Just as the masks we wear are part of who we are, so are the challenges you face." Bloodhound turns, putting distance between them. "Your mind and spirit are the strongest weapons you have yet. Embrace them, for then you will find yourself." Their shield falls to the floor and with it the last technological obstacles between them.

Revenant's eyes widen, watching them call to their God, witnessing their power pour before him. It is awe-inspiring, watching the Hound surge with beastly inner strength and perhaps, something more; something divine. 

"I am ready for my end, there is no fear," their voice echoes across planes and worlds, converging on his being, "don't let your wounds end your fate." 

For the thousandth time, and perhaps for a thousand more to come, Revenant stares, judging the other's wisdom. Truth be told, he does not care for half of the things they said, their intelligence lost to his fatalistic views. But as he readies for the fight, shedding his scanty possessions, he embraces one single thing. 

If there ever was an ending, one last hell for him to cross, he wouldn't be alone in facing it.

He would know the Hound in death, at the end of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Revenant's got a lot of things to work out, huh.


End file.
